Download - A.J.Raos Short Verse
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As the night deepensClusters of fireflies rise fromThe depths of the earth.
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The one-legged crowProclaimed pilgrim arrivalsIn the temple town.
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Women danced dimsaMen drank cups of wine all nightDrums beat in frenzy.
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They all went beyondThe mountains never to returnWe see them in dreams.
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A boy walked awayFrom the orange sea-sun andIdly prancing crows.
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These white robed monks cameFrom nowhere but are real menWith real cloth bags.
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The palace reached skiesIn its shadow lay kings andTheir faceless women.
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Words are giggling girlsPlaying in moon, ponytailsGoing up and down.
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Words hum like the leavesOf the tree when the wind comesFrom across the hills.
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The sea has risenOnly when the night is bornWill the sea calm down.
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The boat stood broodingNear the jetty, its stomachFull with sea-secrets.
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Our train chugged and first The coconuts ran to the hills Chillies went red in face.
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Our train burst in ireLacking its former steam puffAs stones hit her below belt.
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Fresh coffee drip-dropsIn filter,its aroma coveringBlood , gore of morning news.
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A little white girl crawls on the grassBehind the sinuous coconut treeChasing the white-leaping rabbit.
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My birds are twittering constantlyAmid scattered sounds and sun's rays.My mornings are many-hued skiesRising from treetops of bird-songs.
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Sanchi’s golden brown stone dust settlesOn the beauty-things of the hazy mind .
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At the end of the street they all disappear Where there is a blind turn, a dead-end.
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At the Kappad beach
Vasco Da Gama’s stone tablet stood In history’s powdered rock and sand And broken -colored boat masts.
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Several worn-out paths winded to forgot ruinsThere they stopped midway vanishing in bushes.
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That night was hope and some angstWhile nothing ever happened , it would.
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The flowers would not talk to usOf the pain of petals unfoldingWhen stars sprinkled dust on our roofAnd the night’s queen whitely bloomed .
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On the dry riverbed
The water was green and coolOnly the machines no longer whirredAnd their men no more Shouted in the wind.
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Buffaloes on the riverbed
Everything was the same, even the buffaloes And their eyes were vacant as always.
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The grass swayed gently on the bed When the wind called in the noon.
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The Sabarmati bridge
The shallow waters dealt with the bridgeOn which people went up and down.
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Good morning, Mumbai
The roads were picture-perfect with rocks overflowing Haji Ali mysteries near the winding flyoverCar horns meshing with crow's caws.
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My morning in Mumbai :
My morning came back full of feisty crows Fed on Mumbai garbages and fetid sea-fishOf the harbor’s heights.
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In the hollow of my downy back Your after-being remains as refusal.
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There was wind in the hairMy thoughts fell into the skinWhen everything happened Nothing actually occurred
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In the horizon I looked far enoughAnd deep in the tree’s silences The leaves rustled in the night.
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Refusal
I know you have said that enoughIn the day’s heat and moon’s eclipse.
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Up there the cosmic egg flickered Beyond the treesThe blue emitted golden rays In the silky clouds there.
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This summer seemed undecidedWhen the monsoon shall begin In the salt water and hillsTo journey across the mountains And windy coconuts.
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Yesterday morning a little bird shrieked on the wireMy garden was full of them and under them, below the wires.
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She does not speak to me in several dreams on my pillowI know she is now in the other room, the far corner one.
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Darkness drowns us all,bush,hills and sky Except the hum of the sea-waves.
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When you walk alone under the starsThe night bush exists separate from youJust a speck of black ,for a while.
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Their men’s bloated egos did not show on their facesTheir egos showed on the women’s stomachsOn the little heirs who came from there.
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When the silks arrived they forgot women’s faces The women sat gossiping about other women Other women in harem and their fine draperies.
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Sultans and their faceless women
The women's drapery Interrupted their nosesAnd seeing eyesUnder vaulting domes And resounding halls.
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There is a chimera on the tarred roadA woman with a metal pot on headPoetry strikes in the whir of the head A body posture replying.
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The prostate enlargement
As love’s summers passed for wintry nights The joke is now on me prostate and falling And now I try to make pretty poetry out of it.
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The E.C.G.technician
A white ghost with a tail in his neck Watched the geometry of my heart On the flatness of a luminous world .
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They do not harm ,these green snakes But their slither-feel is so much disagreeableAnd they merge so effortlessly in her shadows.
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At night she burrowed her face in the pillow As they dreamed together their joint dreams And some times their separate dreams.
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Love was truly a splendorous thingBehind closed doors and drawn curtains.
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Children played in the compound,collecting Warm twigs for the ensuing festival bonfire.
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Images crowded like people ,in the mindAs the noisy train fan whirred pointlessly.
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My mother
All the while we chant strange wordsThat mean nothing to us or to her Our words are ashes ,our love ashesA bag of of yellowed bones .
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River noise and river silenceSwept by leaning trees and rocksCarry ashes of our living since dead.
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At dusk cream-colored mosquito-netsHid shadows coalescing into each other Outside the autumn leaves fellCarpeting the garden floor